


To Dance With the Clouds Which Follow a Storm

by coolbreeze1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreeze1/pseuds/coolbreeze1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU for after the season 4 finale, "The Last Man," so spoilers through the end of season 4. This is based on an art concept from the first episode of season 5, and written before "Search and Rescue" aired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Dance With the Clouds Which Follow a Storm

* * *

Ronon blinked slowly, watching without moving as the room around him came into focus. Dust floated thick in the air, and a high-pitched ringing sound pulsed in his ears. He stared at the fallen rafters, exposed girders, and blocks of concrete and rubble strewn around him. He was lying face down on the ground, he realized, and he could feel his heart beating against the hard concrete floor.

 _Teyla._

 _Michael._

 _Explosion._

His mind spit out the words, and his head throbbed with the effort. _Explosion._ They’d been in a building, found where Michael was going to bring Teyla to deliver her baby, then the walls had shuddered and parts of the ceiling had begun to fall. Lorne’s voice had screamed over the radio.

 _Booby-trap._

Ronon pushed himself over and onto his back, panting a little as the spikes of pain in his head tried to shoot out of his eyes. He blinked away some of the dust, and licked his lips. Not all of the ceiling had collapsed. He remembered pushing Sheppard forward, trying to get both them out of the death trap of a building they’d been caught in. Then a whooshing, thumping kind of sound, a blast of air…then waking up in quiet, dusty ruins.

 _Sheppard._

The thought jolted Ronon out of his daze, and he jerked up until he was sitting. His head swam at the sudden movement, and the dust swirled thick and gray around him. He blinked again, bringing a hand to his head. Concussion, definitely. He swallowed against the pain and forced himself to take stock of the rest of his body. Bleeding cuts covered his arms, a couple of gashes on his chest and stomach, and his right pant leg was ripped and soaked in blood. He could feel cuts on his face as well, but nothing screamed for his attention. He took a deep breath and was relieved that—miraculously—nothing seemed to be broken.

 _Sheppard,_ his mind screamed again.

“Sheppard?” He yelled, coughing slightly as he inhaled some of the dust. His throat was beyond dry. He waited a moment in the silence. He could hear the building creaking and shifting ominously, but otherwise there was nothing. He reached for his radio earpiece, finding only empty space. His radio, usually clipped to his belt, was also missing.

“Sheppard?” He called out again, his voice a little stronger. He rolled over to his hands and knees, then forced himself up to a standing position and looked around. He remembered Sheppard being in front of him, remembered pushing his friend forward as the ceiling came down around them.

“Come on, Sheppard, answer me.”

Parts of the floor had collapsed, sinking into the basement level directly below him. There was one such hole a few feet away, and Ronon staggered toward it. He knew, almost before he reached it, what he would see when he looked down, and his chest twisted in a pain unrelated to anything that had physically been done to him.

There, at the bottom, lay Sheppard, his body half buried in the twisted remains of the building. Ronon’s heart thudded in his chest: he looked dead. A thin film of dust had settled on his body and in his hair, and blood seeped through it dark and red from cuts on his arm, face, and neck.

“John?” He called out again, not liking the way he had to choke the sound out. There was no response still, but he hadn’t really expected one. Sheppard lay unmoving.

Ronon walked around the edge of the hole carefully, trying to figure out how to climb down without raining more debris on top of his friend. His head still throbbed, but the dizziness had receded somewhat, his senses sharpened at the rush of adrenaline and urgency upon seeing Sheppard’s condition. One of the girders from the ceiling had crashed into the hole and leaned against one edge. The incline was kind of steep, but Ronon cautiously stepped onto the beam and began making his way down.

The room continued to creak, but the beam he was crawling on seemed steady enough. It took a few minutes, but he finally reached the bottom. Ronon squatted down next to Sheppard, his eyes raking over his friend’s body. He could only see his face, part of his chest, and his right arm. The rest of Sheppard was buried under rubble. A block of cement hanging from a twisted piece of re-bar covered enough of his chest so that Ronon could not tell if he was breathing.

He reached, intending to feel for a pulse, and then froze. His gut twisted. He knew he had to do this, but for a split second, he wished he didn’t have to. It was almost better not knowing—in this moment of ignorance, Ronon could still believe Sheppard was alive. His fingers wavered in the dusty air, but then he grit his teeth and forced his muscles to comply.

Ronon pressed his hand against Sheppard’s neck, noticing immediately that the skin was still warm. A faint beat under his fingertips had him sagging in relief. Sheppard was alive. He was obviously in bad shape, but he was still alive. Ronon reached out his other hand, resting it on top of his friend’s head.

“Sheppard,” he called out softly. He wanted to scream and shake him until he got a response, but common sense won out, and the edge of panic he’d been skirting faded a little further into the background.

“Sheppard, buddy, wake up.”

Again, there was no response. Ronon tried to move some of the rubble off of his friend. He was buried deeply, and getting him out would be difficult. Sheppard’s skin was pale, and the bloody scrapes stood out in sharp contrast, but luckily none of them seemed to be too bad. At least, not the ones he could see. His one visible arm was bent at an unnatural angle down near the wrist as well, and Ronon cast around for something to splint it with.

There was little he could for his friend at this point. He found a relatively straight piece of wood that would work for a splint and tore strips off the bottom of his shirt to secure it to Sheppard’s arm. He tried waking him up one more time, to no avail, then climbed back out of the hole. Even if Atlantis was looking for them, it was going to take time to get Sheppard out, and it didn’t look like he had much to spare.

Ronon roamed around the small room, looking for a way out. He and Sheppard had been on the first floor, and it looked like most of the top levels had crashed down on top of them. A few steel girders crisscrossed overhead, no doubt holding back the rest of the building and likely the only reason he and Sheppard were still alive. He found his radio in one corner, crushed beyond repair, and wondered if Atlantis was looking for them.

* * *

The silence was oppressive. Ronon had been used to silence once, but his days as a runner seemed far away, almost like a dream. He had climbed back down into the debris hole after determining there was no way he could dig his way out from beneath the weight of the building. If he had to wait for help, he would wait with Sheppard.

His mind replayed the last few minutes before the explosion. They’d run into the room with all of the equipment, including the long machete-like knife. He’d looked at Sheppard and saw the barely concealed horror and fear for Teyla he’d felt reflected in his team leader’s eyes. The building had shaken and shuddered and then started to fall apart around them. He’d pushed Sheppard forward in his haste to get out. His stomach clenched as he looked down at Sheppard now, buried in debris, maybe dying. Had he caused it? If he hadn’t pushed Sheppard, would he have awoken next to his friend, both of them cut and bruised and concussed but otherwise okay?

Ronon reached out again, pressing lightly against the top of Sheppard’s head. It seemed like the only place he felt he could touch him without causing further harm. There was too much time to think in this place—way too much time. He called out to him to break the silence more than anything else, like he’d been doing for hours now, and was surprised when Sheppard groaned. The sound was almost too quiet to hear.

“Sheppard,” Ronon called again. He felt his heart rate quicken when Sheppard groaned again. In the dim light, he could see Sheppard’s eyes beginning to flutter open.

“Sheppard, wake up.” Ronon spoke louder, forcing a note of command into his voice. Sheppard moaned, blinking a few times, but finally managing to keep his eyes open.

“…R’nnn…” he rasped.

“I’m here, I’m okay.”

“…happ’nn’d?” His voice was weak and slurred and he hadn’t moved other than to blink a few more times as if he was trying to focus on the thing in front of him but couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Building blew up. With us inside.”

Sheppard coughed at that, and his eyes squeezed shut in sudden pain.

“You okay?” Ronon asked, but Sheppard just moaned. “Where does it hurt?” He pressed.

“…uh…mm’kay…” he mumbled.

“What?”

“…m’kay…Rrr…Rodney…”

“Don’t know, Sheppard. He was with Lorne when this place went up and my radio is broken.”

“…R’dney…too loud…sss’topp…talk’nng…”

Ronon peered closer at Sheppard, trying to make sense of the injured man’s mumblings.

“Are you hearing McKay right now?” He asked on a sudden hunch.

“…yyy..yeah…M’kay…you need…stoppp…loud…head hh’rtss…” Sheppard groaned again, and his eyes fluttered closed as he slipped unconscious again. Ronon reached forward, feeling gently underneath the side of Sheppard’s face pressing into the ground. His right ear was visible, but if he had his radio earpiece in his left ear, and it was still working…

Ronon worked his fingers under Sheppard’s head, being careful not to move him. He grimaced when something warm and wet dripped onto his hand. Blood. His fingers inched forward a little further, and then brushed against the earpiece. Extracting it from Sheppard’s ear and working it out again took another few minutes, but Ronon almost sighed when he pulled it out.

He stuck it in his ear, and heard McKay’s frantic voice on the other end. Someone answered him—Carter. If she was here, then Atlantis knew what had happened and they would be looking for them right now.

“McKay!” Ronon barked, but McKay continued jabbering away in full panic. He set the earpiece down and studied Sheppard for a moment. If the earpiece worked, then somehow the radio had survived. If he could just find it, he would be able to call for help. In his mind, he saw Sheppard geared up for a mission—P-90 in right hand, earpiece in left ear, radio clipped to his vest on the left side…

He pulled at the rubble covering Sheppard’s chest, hoping the radio was still clipped to the vest. The block attached to the re-bar wouldn’t move, and Sheppard’s breathing hitched as Ronon tried to move it around.

“Sorry, buddy,” he muttered. He reached under the cement, again using his fingertips to feel what he could not see. His hand ghosted over the shredded remnants of the vest until finally they closed around the bottom of the radio. He tugged at it and heard Sheppard’s breath hitch again at the same time as the block of cement jiggled, and he realized the radio was pinned between the cement and his friend’s chest. He pulled a little more gently, wiggling the radio as carefully as he could. Sheppard’s eyes fluttered open.

“…hh’rrts…” He moaned.

“I know,” Ronon soothed. “Sorry about that.”

“…hh’rd to…b-breathe…” Sheppard rasped. His breath stuttered again and he whimpered in pain.

Ronon froze for a moment, then continued to work the radio free. He was half horrified at causing the man pain, but he needed the radio. They needed the radio. With one final jerk, the radio came loose and Ronon pulled it out. He was amazed it was still in one piece. Other than a deep scratch along one side, it looked perfectly normal.

“…bb-better…” Sheppard panted and the lines of pain around his face relaxed as his eyes slid closed again.

Ronon reached under the cement block again and could feel the space where the radio had been. The cement block, skewered with the re-bar, had been pressing against the radio, which in turn had been pressing against Sheppard’s chest. With the radio gone and the cement block balanced against the debris on either end of the re-bar, Ronon figured Sheppard had a little more room to breathe.

He flicked the radio on and stuck the earpiece back into his ear. Someone else was talking about the best way to sift through the debris to get to their people. Ronon cut him off.

“This is Ronon.”

 _“Ronon! Thank God! I thought you were dead. You weren’t answering your radio. Why didn’t you answer your radio? Is Sheppard with you? Is he okay? He’s not answering his radio either,”_ McKay instantly cut in, and Ronon could almost see the worry, panic, and impatience warring across the scientist’s face.

 _“Rodney, slow down,”_ Carter interrupted. _“Ronon, good to hear from you. Are you okay?”_

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m with Sheppard, though, and he’s in bad shape.”

 _“What’s wrong with Sheppard?”_

 _“McKay, stop.”_ Carter’s voice came across as stern, but Ronon could hear relief in it as well. _“I have Doctor Keller here. I’m going to put her on.”_

 _“Ronon? This is Keller. What is Colonel Sheppard’s condition?”_

“I think his right arm is broken, but I can’t see his left arm or his legs. He’s buried pretty deep in debris,” Ronon reported. “There’s some blood on his face, but his head is turned away from me so I can’t really see how bad it is. He said he was having a little trouble breathing, and he’s been in and out of it. I can’t keep him awake.”

 _“Sounds like a head injury, trauma to the chest as well,”_ Keller responded, more to herself than to Ronon.

“He hasn’t moved much the few times he’s been awake. He fell part way through the floor when the building exploded.”

 _“If he wakes up again, try to keep him awake for as long as you can. He could be very seriously injured, so whatever you do, don’t let him move.”_

“Got it, doc. How close are you guys to us?”

There was a pause, and then Carter’s voice came back on.

 _“Not close. We’ve got your transponders on our sensors, but it’s going to take us some time to dig our way safely to you. Hang in there, Ronon.”_

 

Ronon nodded, then remembered no one could see him and signed off on the radio. His head was beginning to pound. He checked Sheppard’s pulse yet again, then settled back into the debris. It sounded like it was going to be a long wait.

* * *

Ronon grew tired of waiting after about 15 minutes, but his pulsing headache convinced him to sit still awhile longer. Eventually, though, waiting for Atlantis to come to the rescue wasn’t enough. He’d never been good with waiting.

Ronon surveyed the debris covering Sheppard. There were a few large pieces that he could see, and a lot of smaller pieces. He tackled those smaller pieces first, chucking them one at a time over his shoulder and out of the hole. He would have moved more quickly, but fear of aggravating Sheppard’s injuries slowed him down, and he made sure that moving each piece wouldn’t make things worse.

As he worked, he thought of the last two weeks on Atlantis. Sheppard had disappeared without a trace, and while everyone kept looking around the clock, he had sensed that people were starting to give up. Sheppard had been gone, just like Teyla. When he’d returned, telling some wild tale about traveling to the future and back, Ronon hadn’t known what to think. He’d tried to imagine himself in that other future—losing Teyla, losing Sheppard, leaving an Atlantis that was suddenly not home.

Ronon picked up another rock and threw it to the side, then squatted down next to Sheppard and wiped the sweat from his own forehead. He swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat as he stared down at the motionless body of his friend. Teyla was a sister to him, McKay—though it had taken a little bit of time—was definitely a good friend, but Sheppard was more than just friend—he was friend, team leader, mentor, brother, sometimes father. He had saved Ronon from the life of a runner and given him a home. After seven years of running, Ronon had first felt safe, then relaxed, then like he belonged. If that other future had happened, there was no doubt in his mind he would have left Atlantis. He loved Atlantis and loved his friends there, but it was Sheppard’s Atlantis that kept him there.

His head was pounding again, and he forced the thought of losing Sheppard out of his mind. He couldn’t think about that, not right now. He swallowed against the sudden tickle in his throat as he inhaled some of the dust he’d kicked up with all his moving around. He’d kill for some water.

Sheppard groaned, moving his head slightly. Ronon reached out and rested his hand on his friend’s head again. The skin felt warm to the touch, much warmer than it had earlier.

“Sheppard?”

Sheppard breathed in sharply, then coughed when he—like Ronon—inhaled some of the thick dust. His eyes flew open as he struggled to control the painful hacks, and his body shook with the exertion. His skin went from pale to a deathly gray shade.

“Easy, Sheppard. Try to breath slow.”

“Tryin’…” Sheppard gasped. After a moment, the tremors in his body quieted. Sheppard squeezed his eyes shut as he worked on breathing slowly. His breaths were punctuated with the occasional cough, followed by a low, painful moan.

“Called Atlantis,” Ronon said once it seemed like the worst of the pain had passed for Sheppard. “They’re working on digging us out.”

“Good,” Sheppard whispered.

“Keller says you should stay awake.”

“…mmmm…”

“Sheppard!” Ronon said, a little louder. He tapped the top of Sheppard’s head.

“What?” Sheppard sounded groggy, but his voice was a little clearer than it had been. Not as slurred. Ronon hoped that was a good sign.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Sheppard grunted.

“Be specific.”

Sheppard cracked his eyes open at that, turning his head slightly to get a better look at Ronon.

“You look…all dusty,” he rasped.

“So do you. Keller wants to know where it hurts.”

“Um…arm hurts, headache…side and…kind of hurts…to breathe…”

“Think your arm’s broken. I wrapped it up as well as I could, but…” Ronon shrugged, feeling helpless.

“S’okay,” Sheppard answered. He blinked heavy-looking eyelids.

“I’m going to keep pulling rocks off you. Let me know if it hurts,”

“Okay.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Okay.”

Ronon shook his head. Sheppard was already slipping unconscious. There was no way he was going to stay awake on his own. Ronon scrambled, trying to think of something to say to him.

“I would apologize for pushing you when the building started to collapse, but you’ll just tell me not to, so I won’t bother,” he said. He hefted a large piece of cement and chucked it to the side.

“Huh?” Sheppard asked. He blinked and looked up at Ronon again. He really looked dazed.

“Never mind.”

There was moment of silence again, and Ronon wondered if he should say something else. As he yanked on a metal bar, Sheppard let out a choked, whimpering cry.

“Sheppard? What is it? Where does it hurt?”

“Arm…” he panted. “…arm hurts…don’t…Ronon…”

“Sorry,” Ronon grunted. He looked at the bar he’d been pulling on. The end of it was half buried in the debris, and he tried to see how deep it went.

“Is it your left arm?”

At Sheppard’s tight nod, Ronon let go off the bar and worked on moving some of the smaller pieces of debris in that area. He was making progress but not much, and he wondered if the rescue team was having as much trouble as he was.

“…can’t do it…” Sheppard mumbled.

“What?” Ronon paused in mid-throw.

“Can’t lose Teyla…can’t lose all of you…can’t do that again.”

“You’re talking about when you were in the future.”

“You were all dead and gone…Dust, as McKay said. I…all alone in Atlantis like that…I don’t know if I can do that.”

Ronon nodded, reminded of his own thoughts from just a few moments earlier.

“Got any…w-water?”

“No, sorry. I could really use some too,” Ronon answered. He wiped the sweat and dirt from his face again. He sat down next to Sheppard, feeling the exhaustion in his body. They’d been trapped down here for hours now. His head was throbbing.

“Ronon?”

Ronon jerked at the sound of Sheppard’s voice, thinking the man had fallen asleep. He looked over and saw hazel eyes staring back at him. There was something chilling in their steadiness.

“What is it, Sheppard?” Ronon asked but he almost hoped Sheppard didn’t answer. He almost didn’t want to know.

“I…um…I can’t…I can’t feel my legs.”

Ronon felt a sharp twist of panic in his chest, and icy dread dripping into his stomach. He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t. Couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t think of something to say. Hazel eyes blinked back at him, the quiet mask slipping for a moment to reveal pain and absolute fear. Ronon reached over and gripped Sheppard’s shoulder.

“I should call Keller,” he said. Sheppard just nodded.

“Atlantis, this is Ronon.”

 _“We’re here, Ronon,”_ Carter’s voice came immediately. _“We were about to call you. How’s John?”_

“Awake. I need Keller.”

There was a pause, and then Keller came on, her voice sounding small but resolute.

 _“What’s going on, Ronon? Is everything alright?”_

Ronon swallowed, staring down at his friend. “Sheppard’s awake. He says he can’t feel his legs,” he blurted out.

 _“What?”_ McKay burst out, obviously listening in on the conversation.

 _“Okay, Ronon. We’re trying to get to you as fast as we can, but it’s taking some time. It’s very important that you don’t let Colonel Sheppard move around. That could make things worse.”_

 _“How much worse can it get than Sheppard paralyzed?”_

 _“McKay, calm down,”_ Keller commanded. _“We don’t know for sure that he is paralyzed. Listen, Ronon, Colonel Sheppard may have broken his back or it may just be bruised. It’s impossible for me to say. Just keep him still.”_

 _“That’s it?”_

 _“Rodney,”_ Carter came back on, her tone sharp. _“One of the rescue teams has almost reached you and Lorne.”_

 _“Yeah, yeah, okay,”_ McKay answered. _“Hey, um, Ronon?”_

“What is it, McKay?” Ronon asked.

 _“Just tell Sheppard he’s going to be fine. Tell him to…um…not panic or anything.”_

“Right,” Ronon answered, switching off the radio for the moment. He looked at Sheppard, who’d been watching him the whole time. “Keller says you might have just bruised your back. McKay says not to panic.”

Sheppard’s lips quirked in a half smile that turned into more of a grimace as he tried to stifle a moan of pain. “Right, don’t panic. Got it,” he mumbled.

* * *

Despite Ronon’s best efforts to keep Sheppard awake, he drifted off to sleep again, and Ronon began digging through the debris. He’d been careful before about not jarring Sheppard at all, but he was even more cautious this time. Sheppard’s face was pale and covered with a fine sheen of sweat now, and Ronon could just barely see the faint trembling in his muscles.

He reached for one of the larger pieces covering Sheppard’s legs. It had seemed too heavy to even consider lifting before, but now he wondered if he could somehow leverage it out of the way with one of the discarded bars strewn around. He pulled at it first and felt it shift a little under his weight. Sheppard did not wake up, but of course, even if he was awake, he couldn’t feel his legs and wouldn’t know if Ronon was doing any damage.

Ronon paused, considering. The small space they were entrapped in had grown warmer, and he coughed on the dust. The dust swirled around above his head, revealing invisible air currents. Somewhere, light was getting in, but Ronon could not tell from where. Besides, even if he could find a way out, he wasn’t leaving Sheppard behind. Not like this.

He turned back to the slab of concrete and took a deep breath, then froze. He took another deep breath, this time drawing in air heavily through his nose. He looked up at the dust swirling above his head. It was more than just dust.

“Smoke,” he said out loud. He scrambled for his radio. “Atlantis—McKay—Carter. I can smell smoke in here. Something’s burning.”

 _“There are small fires burning all over the building,”_ Carter answered. _“There’s one that’s getting close to you, but it’s small.”_

“How close are you?”

 _“We’re working on it.”_ So, not very close at all.

“Did you get McKay and Lorne out?”

 _“We did. They’re on their way to the infirmary now. Doctor Keller says they’ll be fine. How are you and Colonel Sheppard?”_

“Still here,” he answered roughly.

 _“We’ll get there, Ronon,”_ Carter answered. _“All of our teams are working on getting to you now.”_

“Yeah, I know,” he answered. He wasn’t angry at Carter or at the rescue teams, but for a man used to depending only on himself, his patience was wearing thin.

He dug around a nearby pile of debris and found a bar that might help him with leverage. He began pushing and pulling at the larger slabs of cement, and the exertion left him shaking with fatigue. Now that he was aware of the smoke, he could smell it on every inhale. His headache went up a notch as well.

With a yell, he pushed the largest of the slabs off Sheppard’s legs then dropped dizzily to his knees. The smoke was making his throat burn and his eyes water. He heard the cement slide to the side and crash into something below them.

“Ronon?” Sheppard called out, then coughed. “Ronon…smoke…”

“Yeah, I know. Carter says parts of the building are on fire but they’re almost here. They’ll get us out.” Small lie—he had no idea where Carter and the rescue teams were, but Sheppard didn’t need to know that.

“Can’t move, Ronon,” Sheppard said, his eyes opened wide. His voice was hoarse and Ronon could hear the fear. “The fire…if it gets close to us…”

“I’m working on it. I’ve almost got you unburied now,” Ronon said. He forced himself to sound calm and confidant, but he coughed on the next breath. “Just stay still. I’ll get you out of here.”

Sheppard nodded almost imperceptibly. Ronon could almost see the battle to keep his fear and panic at bay. He tried not to notice how little Sheppard had managed to move the entire time they’d been trapped.

Despite the smoke that was growing thicker as it accumulated in his and Sheppard’s small space, his burning lungs, throbbing head, and increasing dizziness, Ronon forced himself to concentrate what little energy he had on removing the final slabs of cement. Sheppard passed out again and Ronon could hear his breaths coming out in fast pants.

Another slab slid off to the side with a crash. Ronon could see the fire now—the glow casting flickering shadows through the debris. It was hot, too. He kneeled down near Sheppard’s legs and tried to assess the damage. They didn’t really look broken, and there was no sign of blood, which was a relief. From what he could tell, the cement had been resting over his legs but not directly on them.

Sheppard coughed, then coughed again as he tried to draw in oxygen. Ronon moved closer to him, grabbing his team leader’s face and forcing Sheppard to look at him.

“Slow breaths, Sheppard. Easy.” He spoke softly, his throat feeling raw, but he hoped it was enough to calm the other man down.

“I can…feel…fire…hot in here…” Sheppard panted.

Ronon’s eyes flickered over to the flames growing ever closer.

“Ronon…” Sheppard gasped. “Can’t move…can’t feel my legs…if that fire…”

Ronon swallowed. “I’ll get you out, Sheppard.”

“I…can’t move…” Sheppard whimpered. If he’d had more strength, he might have been flailing beneath Ronon’s grasp, but instead he was trembling all over. The strength to maintain his usual mask of composure was gone as well, and Ronon saw raw terror in Sheppard’s eyes.

He worked faster—as fast as he dared. The smoke was growing thicker now and flames licked at the debris only ten feet or so from Sheppard’s head. The last thing covering Sheppard was the huge steel girder. Ronon crawled forward, acutely aware of how close the fire was creeping, hoping that the girder, like some of the larger pieces, wasn’t actually pinning Sheppard down. As he squatted down, he could see that Sheppard was wedged in pretty tight, but possibly loose enough to slide out.

Slide out? Ronon cringed, rubbing his face with his hands. Sheppard couldn’t feel his legs, meaning he had a serious back injury. Sliding him out—moving him at all—would certainly make things worse. He looked up at Sheppard’s sudden moan. The flames were still advancing.

“Atlantis. Carter. Keller. Someone. Answer,” he yelled into the radio.

 _“Carter here. What’s wrong?”_

“Where are you?”

 _“I’m sorry, Ronon. We’re moving as fast as we can but there’s a lot of unstable debris where you guys are at.”_

“We don’t have time. The fire down here is spreading,” he answered. He waited a moment, but Carter was silent on the other end. “I might have to move Sheppard.”

 _“Ronon,”_ Keller piped up. _“Do you absolutely have to move him?”_

Ronon looked at the flames. They were moving quickly—now about five or six feet away. Sheppard was shaking badly, and his eyes followed the shadows of flickering flame off to his side. He whimpered, then bit his lip to hold in the sound. Ronon turned away, hoping his friend didn’t hear what he had to say next, but he had to convey to Keller and Carter the urgency of the situation.

“If I don’t, he’ll be burned alive.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then Keller’s voice, wavering at first but growing stronger as she directed Ronon on how to move someone with a possible injury to the back or spinal column. Ronon kneeled down next to Sheppard as she spoke and looked his friend in the eye. When Keller had told him everything she could, he shoved the radio into his pocket.

“I have to move you, Sheppard.”

“I know,” Sheppard rasped.

“This will probably hurt. A lot,” he said. He couldn’t say, _This could break your back; this could make it so you never walk again; this could take away everything you love to do in life._

Sheppard nodded. Ronon had not said those things, but Sheppard had heard them. He understood. The flames were closer, the heat radiating from them almost hot enough to burn. He was exhausted and dizzy, but the nearness of the fire infused his body with adrenaline. He wiggled his arms under Sheppard’s legs and back—dismayed at the feeling of wet, warm blood on Sheppard’s side—then slid and lifted his friend in as fluid a motion as he could manage.

Sheppard gave a choked cry, then immediately passed out. The only way to get away from the fire was to go up. Ronon began climbing up the girder, step after careful step. He held Sheppard as close to his body as he could, using his arms to support both his friend’s weight and keep his back as stable as he could. He tried not to shift him at all, but his balance climbing up the beam was precarious, and he wondered how successful he was.

The smoke above the debris hole was even thicker, but the flames all seemed to be below. Ronon breathed a sigh of relief and staggered as far away from the hole and the fire as he could. He glanced around, wondering where he should set Sheppard down, or if he should set him down at all. Would setting him down be the movement that paralyzed him? Would it be better to just keep holding him? The pain is his head throbbed with his heartbeat, making it hard to concentrate.

Think—he had to think. But he felt disconnected. He couldn’t remember what Keller had said about putting him down, or even if she had said anything about putting him down. The smoke was making his eyes water and obscuring the little bit of light in the small space. He leaned against the remains of a wall and slid to the ground still holding onto Sheppard. He coughed, and Sheppard groaned in his arms.

“Sheppard?” Ronon whispered. Sheppard’s eyes fluttered open then slid closed again. “John?”

“…mmm…”

Ronon looked down. Sheppard’s eyes were half open, but he seemed to be awake. He could feel blood dripping down his arm and tried to remember if Sheppard had said something about it before. Sheppard opened his mouth, as if he was trying to talk, but no sound came out.

“Can you feel your legs?” He suddenly blurted. He looked down at his friend, hoping the man was unconscious because of all the things he hadn’t wanted to find out today, at this very moment, this felt like the worst one. Sheppard blinked and looked straight at him.

“No.”

* * *

Ronon did not pass out—of this, he was positive—but time passed in a blur. One moment the room was filled with smoke, lit by the flames filling the debris hole and reaching up to the next floor. The next minute, someone was tapping him on the shoulder. People in Atlantis uniforms filled his view, urging him to let go of Sheppard, but his arms were frozen, locked in place. He glanced down, surprised to see an oxygen mask, cervical collar, and IV already on Sheppard. A marine approached with a backboard, while a medic fitted a mask over Ronon’s face.

“It’s alright, sir. We’ve got him, now,” the medic was saying. “You can let him go. We’re taking you back to Atlantis now.”

Ronon stared at him, hearing the words but not understanding their meaning.

“Let go, sir. We’ll take it from here.”

Let go. Ronon looked down as his arms were peeled back and Sheppard was strapped to a backboard. The marines then moved him to a gurney, which was slowly lifted through a hole in the ceiling. Ronon jerked, suddenly realizing Sheppard was gone. He tried to stand up, but the world swirled dizzily around him.

“Easy, sir. We’ll take care of you. Did you hurt your arm?” the medic said.

Ronon stared at the medic for a moment, then looked down at his hands. One of his arms was covered in blood. It was fresh and thick, and dripped off his arm and soaked into his pants. He tried to remember what had happened to his arm, how he had hurt it, but his whole body felt numb.

 _Teyla._

 _Michael._

 _Explosion._

 _Sheppard._

“Sheppard?” He asked, his voice muffled under the oxygen mask. The medic had turned away to dig through his pack for bandages and not heard the question. Behind him, an empty gurney was being lowered through the hole in the ceiling. Two marines were standing near the edge of the debris hole, dousing the flames with fire extinguishers.

 _I can’t feel my legs._

Ronon looked back down at his hands. The medic was tugging on him, and another marine approached pointing toward the gurney, but all he could see was Sheppard, debris, fire. Blood.

* * *

“Whoa, Ronon, easy does it.”

Keller’s voice floated through the haze, and he felt her small hands pressing against his shoulder. He opened his eyes and the room tilted to the side. He groaned as the pain in his head spiked, and more hands steadied him.

“Ronon, are you with me?” Keller’s voice floated over his head.

“Yeah,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse, like he’d been sick, and he opened his eyes in confusion. “Wha—” he started, but was cut off by an all-consuming cough that took his breath away and made his eyes water. Someone pressed a mask over his mouth. He opened his eyes again to see Keller’s face swim into focus above him.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re going to be okay.”

Ronon looked around, recognizing the infirmary but not remembering how he got here. Images of the collapsed building, of pushing Sheppard forward as the ground shook around them, of his friend lying in the debris unconscious, of fire, and of Sheppard being lifted out of the building in a gurney flashed through his mind. He tried to look around, but his bed was ringed with privacy curtains.

“Sheppard?” He asked and frowned at the worry that creased Keller’s face.

“He’s in bad shape, Ronon. I won’t lie. His injuries were extensive, plus there was smoke inhalation and some bleeding. I’ll talk to you more about this in the morning, but you were also hurt in the blast and you need your rest.”

Ronon grabbed her wrist before she could move, and pulled the oxygen mask from his face. Another image of Sheppard, lying in the debris, flashed through his mind. _I can’t feel my legs._ “Please, just tell me…”

“What?”

Ronon swallowed. He’d been afraid for people, worried about the fate of his friends and family and teammates, but this—this was different. This sat in his chest like a cold, hard block of ice.

“Did I make it worse? Moving Sheppard.”

Keller’s face softened. “Ronon, he would have died if you hadn’t moved him. Dead is worse.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I know,” she said. “We did a scan earlier, and there were no broken bones in his back or obvious signs of spinal damage. There was, however, extensive bruising on his lower back. It’s too early to tell what kind of damage the swelling from the bruises may have done, or if it’s permanent.”

“Tell me when you know.” He tried to put as much force and strength and confidence into his voice as he could, but exhaustion was creeping up on him quickly and he could feel his eyelids drooping closed against his will.

“I will, Ronon. Now try to get some rest. You have a concussion so we’ll have to wake you up in a few hours. You also inhaled a lot of smoke—your breathing’s better now than it was when you first came in, but if you have any trouble, just let one of us now.”

Ronon nodded. He wanted to say more—to know more—but Keller’s voice was already fading, and he slipped off to sleep.

* * *

“How is he?”

Carter’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but in the near silence of the infirmary, the words were clear. Ronon cracked open his eyes and noticed immediately that the lights were low. It had to be night. Carter and Keller stood a few feet away from the end of his bed.

“Doing much better. He’s got a concussion, so he’ll have some nasty headaches for the next few weeks, but otherwise he should be fine. He was dehydrated and suffering from smoke inhalation when he came in, but considering what he went through, he really is doing well.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ronon croaked, causing both women to jump. He smiled at their reaction, feeling a little groggy.

“How are you feeling? Any headache?” Keller asked, all business.

“Head hurts, not too bad though.”

“I’ve got to get back to the gate room,” Carter interrupted. “Ronon, I’m glad you’re alright.”

Ronon nodded to her as she left. He winced slightly as Keller checked his vitals, feeling his headache turn up a notch.

“I’ll get you something for that in a moment,” she said.

“I thought you were going to wake me.”

“We have, a few times. You were exhausted, though, so I’m not surprised you don’t really remember it. Anything else I can get for you?”

Ronon looked around the infirmary, dismayed that the privacy curtains were still up. “Can I see Sheppard?”

Keller seemed to sense what was coming, and she was already raising Ronon’s bed and signaling for a nurse.

“I knew you were going to ask that. You can see him for a couple of minutes, but that’s it.”

A nurse brought a wheelchair over, which Ronon was ready to fight her on, but Keller threatened to call off the whole deal right then and there. Ronon relented. Besides that, his head was really starting to pound. He’d rather spend his energy sitting with Sheppard than fighting Keller and the nurses.

Keller herself wheeled him over to the ICU. Sheppard was the only patient in this area, but Ronon would have spotted him immediately anyway. His dark hair was messy but clean, stark against the white sheets.

“He’s okay right now—let me just say that right off the bat. His injuries were severe, though, and he’s got a long recovery process ahead of him.”

“How bad?” Ronon asked. Sheppard was beyond pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Tubes and wires snaked in and out from under blankets and bandages, and the silence was punctuated by the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the whooshing of the ventilator.

“He’s got cuts and bruises like you’d expect. He was also suffering from dehydration.”

“We didn’t have any water,” Ronon whispered.

“Water would have helped, but I’m sure that was the least of your concerns. He was suffering from smoke inhalation—like you were—and a bruised lung, which is why we’ve got him on a ventilator now. He can breathe on his own, but given how much trauma he’s suffered, we decided to give him a little extra support.”

Ronon nodded and pushed the wheelchair forward a little. “So he did break his arm?” He asked, noticing the heavy cast on the arm nearest him.

“Both of them, actually. He’s got a broken right wrist, a compound fracture in his left arm, and a hairline fracture in his right leg. He cracked some ribs, but miraculously didn’t break any of those. He did have a nasty gash on his right side, from his armpit down to his stomach, that bled quite a bit, but it looked worse than it actually was.”

“What about his back?”

Keller sighed, pulling up a chair next to him. Ronon could feel his heart beating faster.

“That is one of his most serious injuries. I mentioned early that there was some heavy bruising on his lower back that put pressure on his spinal column. Our concerns now are how much pressure and how much of the blood supply to the nerves that cut off.”

Ronon stared at Sheppard stillness as he listened to Keller and tried to follow what she was saying. “Will he walk again?” He asked. Sheppard’s voice echoed in his head. _Ronon, I can’t feel my legs._

“It’s too early to tell at this point. We need to give him a chance to heal a little more before we make any decisions like that. He also had some internal bleeding, but that seems to be resolving on its own. For the time being, all we can do is keep a close eye on him and help him along when we can.”

Ronon leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was not the answer he wanted. He heard Sheppard’s broken cry as he lifted him out of the pile of debris, felt Sheppard’s dead weight in his arms as he carried him. _I can’t move. I can’t feel my legs._

“You did the right thing, Ronon,” Keller said softly.

Ronon glanced up at her voice. She was looking at him, willing Ronon to meet her eyes. He saw Sheppard and himself in the building again as the walls and ground started to shake. Saw himself pushing Sheppard forward as chunks of the ceiling came down. He blinked the images away and took a deep breath.

Keller squeezed his shoulder. “Alright, you’ve seen him. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Ronon reached out and gripped Sheppard’s shoulder for a moment before leaning back in the wheelchair and letting Keller push him back to his own bed. Ronon wobbled on shaky legs as he stood, surprised at how exhausted he felt after just a few minutes of being awake.

“Where’s McKay? Is he okay?” Ronon asked as Keller helped him into bed and pulled the blankets over his legs.

“He’s alright. They found something in the building—not sure what exactly—but McKay thinks he knows where Michael and Teyla are. He and a group of marines left a few hours ago to go after him.”

Ronon, who’d been easing himself slowly back against the pillows, suddenly sat up and started pushing the blankets off his legs. “I should be there. I should be helping them,” he said.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Keller cried.

Ronon managed to swing his legs off the bed, but the quick movement was too much for his aching head to handle and he began listing to the side as the room swiveled around him. He groaned at the dizziness and the sudden nausea churning in his stomach. Hands on his shoulders pushed him back against the bed, and then Keller was pushing something into his IV.

“Something for the pain and nausea,” she said when Ronon was able to bring her face back into focus. “You’re in no shape to be going off world right now. Trust McKay and the others. They’ll get Teyla.”

Ronon grunted. The pain in his head was fading, but so was his hold on consciousness. He knew Keller was right; there was nothing he could do to help fight Michael right now, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. He hated waiting. Keller gripped his arm as he slowly lost the battle against sleep.

* * *

Hours passed. Ronon woke up a few times but couldn’t keep his eyes open for long and wondered if Keller had given him something to keep him in bed. He would never have admitted it, but it felt good to lay in bed. His concern for his team was pushed to the back of his mind, buried under whatever drugs Keller had given him. His limbs were heavy and relaxed and the bed was soft, and he wondered idly if he’d gotten weak after all this time in Atlantis.

When he next woke up clearly, sun was streaming into the infirmary. It felt like mid-morning, and he could hear nurses bustling around. One of the privacy curtains had been moved, allowing him a view out the far window. He stared at the blue sky half-mesmerized and had almost drifted asleep when Doctor Keller came over.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. How are you feeling?” She asked, smiling as she raised the bed.

“Okay, I guess.” His head felt heavy and he was having a hard time waking up.

“Any pain? Headache?”

“No, not really,” Ronon answered, rubbing his face with his hands. He noticed belatedly that the IV had been removed. Keller checked his lungs and heart, then stuck a thermometer in his ear.

“Think you can eat?”

“Sure, okay.”

Keller nodded, satisfied at both Ronon’s temperature and his responses to her questions.

“Am I okay?”

“Yes, you are. You’re lungs sound good and none of your cuts and scrapes are infected. Eat some breakfast and get some rest, and we’ll talk about releasing you later this afternoon. Got it?”

Ronon nodded. He liked Keller, respected her as a doctor, but he hated the infirmary. The thought of retreating back to his own room sounded great. The last couple of days had been brutal. Ronon knew that most people viewed him as unshakeable, strong, able to face down anything life threw at him without a blink of the eye, but they were wrong. Ronon was just good at hiding it and pushing it back. He hadn’t had the luxury of not doing anything but that for a long time.

He ate and slept and ate again. His headache had returned, but Keller was keeping it at bay. Late that afternoon, Keller officially released him from the infirmary, and Ronon immediately made his way to the ICU.

He noticed immediately that the ventilator was gone, replaced with the less intrusive nasal cannula. Sheppard was still beyond pale, but Keller assured him that his friend was doing better. Ronon sat down in a chair for yet another long wait. Nurses flitted in and out, checking on Sheppard’s vitals and bandages and assuring the tubes and wires were still in place, but for the most part, they left the two of them alone.

“McKay went to find Teyla,” Ronon suddenly said. He’d been sitting in silence for an hour. The beep of the heart monitor was his only answer.

“They’re not back yet. Not sure when that will happen.”

Sheppard did not even twitch, and the utter stillness of the man reminded Ronon of when he’d first found Sheppard buried in the debris hole.

“You should be awake for that,” he added. He leaned back in his chair and let the silence feel the room. Except that it wasn’t silent, not like it had been in the ruins of that building. Nurses walked by, chatting quietly to each other, to Ronon, and to Sheppard when they did one of their checks on him. Machines beeped, and distant calls over the intercom floated into the room from the main part of the infirmary.

No creaking building, no cackling of nearby flames. Ronon heard again the muted whompff of the first booby-trapped explosion, felt the ground shaking below his feet. He pressed his fingers into this eyes as he saw himself pushing Sheppard forward, the ceiling raining down in chunks above him, the floor opening up below him like a great, gaping jaw.

Sheppard had laid in the debris, half buried, for hours, telling Ronon he couldn’t do it—he couldn’t lose Teyla or McKay or him or Atlantis. _So much loss,_ Ronon thought, and his mind flashed to Beckett in the stasis pod, hovering in limbo between real life and absolute death, and of Weir—dead, then alive, then dead again. Ronon had lost everything when the Wraith had wiped out Sateda, and then Sheppard had given it all back piece by piece, and now, slowly, he wondered if he was losing it all over again.

“Shut up,” he muttered to himself, wishing he could stop the flood of thoughts. Too much time. Too much waiting. Too much silence. He’d told McKay once that he tried not to think about the things he couldn’t change, and it was true. He tried, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

A commotion in the main part of the infirmary had him looking up. Something clattered to the ground and someone apologized. Ronon forced himself to look at Sheppard again. He looked dead, and only the rhythmic beating of the heart monitor convinced him otherwise. The dark shadows under Sheppard’s eyes made the man’s face look drawn and exhausted.

 _I can’t feel my legs._

Sheppard’s voice drifted in and out of his mind, and he cringed. _I can’t move, Ronon. I can’t feel my legs._ Ronon had pushed him forward then picked him up when he knew Sheppard had seriously injured his back. _I can’t move, Ronon._

“Sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. He stared at his hands, remembering the blood that had covered them after Sheppard had been taken away, back to Atlantis.

“Huh?”

The voice was soft, barely intelligible, but Ronon looked up with a startled gasp. Sheppard stared back at him, his eyes half open and looking like they wanted to slide closed again.

“Sheppard? You’re awake?”

Sheppard swallowed, his throat moving painfully. Ronon grabbed the ice cup a nurse had set out a while earlier and fished around for a piece that hadn’t melted yet with the spoon. He found one and held it carefully to Sheppard dry lips. Sheppard closed his eyes as he sucked on the ice, the lines in his face relaxing a bit in relief.

“Home?” Sheppard asked after a few moments. His voice was gruff and hoarse but a little stronger.

“Yeah, home. We made it.”

“Others?”

“Some of the marines were killed, but McKay and Lorne made. They’re off looking for Teyla right now. They think they know where she is.”

“You?”

“I’m okay. Just a concussion. Keller wouldn’t let me leave.”

Sheppard nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stifle a cough. Ronon fished for another piece of ice and smiled when Sheppard looked at him gratefully.

“How about you? You okay?” Ronon asked.

“…umm…not sure…feel floaty…weird…”

“Keller said you broke a bunch of bones.”

Sheppard stared up at the ceiling, squirming slightly in bed as he seemed to take stock of himself. Ronon glanced at Sheppard’s legs and felt a sharp stabbing pain in his chest when he realized they had not moved.

Sheppard seemed to realize this at the same time. He gasped, reaching out with a casted right wrist for Ronon.

“I can’t…I can’t feel my legs. I remember now…”

Ronon’s stomach clenched and he felt sick. He swallowed, grabbing for the finger’s poking out of the cast.

“Sheppard, it’s okay,” he said.

“I can’t move…I can’t move my legs…”

The heart monitor began beeping frantically and Sheppard was panting. His face was covered in sweat.

“Sheppard, calm down.”

Sheppard didn’t calm down. An alarm from one of the monitors started to go off and Sheppard was gasping for air. He twisted on the bed but his left arm—with the compound fracture—was casted and immobilized, strapped to the rest of his body. He flailed his right arm, banging the cast around his wrist against the metal bed rails.

“John.” Ronon commanded, almost yelled. He had grabbed Sheppard’s right arm to keep it still, and now he rested his other hand on his friend’s forehead, like he’d done in the debris hole.

Sheppard stilled, blinking up in surprise at Ronon. The alarm on the monitor was still going off, but the heartbeat underneath that slowed down a little. Ronon wasn’t sure what had caught Sheppard’s attention—either the yelling or Ronon’s sudden closeness—but whatever it was, it had shocked Sheppard out of his panic.

“McKay said not to panic.”

Sheppard nodded, his breathing ragged. Two nurses and Keller ran in at the commotion, and Ronon was politely shoved back as they looked Sheppard over, turned off alarms, and got the injured man settled again. By the time they were done, Sheppard was barely holding onto consciousness. Ronon stepped forward before anyone could kick him out.

“Sleep, Sheppard. I’ll be here.”

Sheppard responded by closing his eyes. His breathing and heart rate evened out immediately as he drifted off to sleep, and Ronon dropped heavily into the chair.

* * *

He jerked awake, his neck stiffening in pain. He’d fallen asleep in the chair, he realized. The infirmary was dark, and quieter than usual, and Ronon figured it must late in the evening. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Sheppard was sleeping quietly, his casted arms both folded across his chest and stomach.

Ronon rubbed his neck, wondering what had jarred him so suddenly out of sleep when he heard McKay’s strident voice in the main part of the infirmary. He stepped quietly out of Sheppard’s room, following the sound of the physicist, and couldn’t help the grin that split his face at the scene he found.

McKay stood in the middle of the room, waving his arms and babbling a hundred miles an hour. Lorne stood nearby, looking dirty and tired, but also smiling. Keller leaned over a gurney, and when she straightened up, she held a small bundle curled up in her arms. Teyla lay on the gurney, looking exhausted and grungy, but her eyes followed Keller and the small wad of blankets in the doctor’s arms.

“Ronon!” McKay yelled as the runner stepped into the room. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You found Teyla?”

“Yeah, we did, obviously. She’s fine. Right, Teyla? You’re fine? She had her baby. I had her baby. I mean, she had the baby, but I was there. I delivered a baby! Teyla’s baby. She had her baby.”

Ronon laughed, his spirits lifting for the first time in days—weeks even. He looked at Teyla, who smiled and beckoned him over. McKay followed, close on his heels.

“Congratulations,” Ronon said.

“Thanks.”

“Not you, McKay.”

“Thank you,” Teyla said, and even her voice sounded strained with fatigue. “Ronon, I’d like you to meet my son.”

Keller opened the blankets a little, revealing a tiny, scrunched up, sleeping face.

“You did it, McKay,” Ronon said in awe.

“I know,” McKay answered, equally shocked. “We were stuck and Lorne couldn’t reach us and Michael was running around with his zombies and then Teyla said she was having the baby and it was just us and she was having the baby and there was all this blood and you know how I am with blood—”

“You did it, McKay.” Ronon clapped the man on the shoulder, smiling again at Teyla. His team was finally home, safe.

“Teyla, I need to check both you and the baby out,” Keller said. “And Major Lorne and Doctor McKay, you two need your post-mission checks.”

“What about Michael?” Ronon asked before anyone could move.

“Escaped,” Lorne answered, and some of the relief and joy in the room faltered a bit. “We believe we managed to destroy most of his research, though. At least the recent stuff he’d done on Teyla and the baby.”

Ronon nodded. He’d wanted to hear Michael was dead, but hopefully they’d stopped him enough for the moment. One day, he would find Michael and he would make him pay.

“Where is John?” Teyla asked suddenly, and Lorne and McKay paused, looking around for the colonel.

Ronon took a deep breath. He looked at Keller, who nodded back at him, unable to keep the worry from her face.

“Oh, no,” McKay said, catching the look that passed between them.

“Ronon?” Teyla pressed.

“He’s…um…he’s alive. He was hurt badly in the explosion, though,” Ronon started. He looked up wildly at Keller, not sure what to say next.

“We’ve got him in the ICU right now,” Keller filled in. “He’s recovering, but he’s in bad shape.”

“He couldn’t feel his legs,” McKay said. “I remember you said that. He couldn’t feel his legs.”

Teyla looked between all of them with wide eyes, and the room seemed to deflate around them.

“He bruised his back but there’s no immediate indication of spinal cord damage. He also had some internal bleeding, a bruised lung, and a number of broken bones. You need to understand that he’s going to be okay but it will be a slow recovery.” Keller stared at them, meeting each of their eyes until they all nodded back. “Now, you three need to get checked out, get some food, and then rest. You, Ronon, need food and rest too.”

They murmured their acquiescence. McKay and Lorne followed a nurse to the back of the infirmary to get checked out, and Keller left to check over the baby. Ronon grabbed Teyla’s hand, squeezing it in his larger, rougher one.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

A small smile pulled at her lips. Her eyes were bright as she looked up at Ronon, and Ronon could feel his heart thudding in his chest. They were safe and home, but they weren’t all okay yet, and relief warred with anxious fear as he scooped Teyla up in a hug.

* * *

Sheppard coughed, then groaned, then let out a soft, whimpering cry.

“What is it?” Ronon asked. He’d jumped up out of his chair the second he saw that Sheppard was waking up.

“…hh’rtss…”

Ronon punched the call button for the nurse, who ran in almost immediately.

“He’s awake. Get Keller,” Ronon barked. “Hold on, Sheppard.”

Sheppard groaned again, twisting in his bed. He reached down with his right arm toward the leg with the hairline fracture, propped up under the blankets.

“…Ronon…”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he answered, grabbing for Sheppard’s hand. Sheppard looked up, his face creased in pain, but there was something else in his eyes.

“My leg hurts,” he said, and Ronon froze. He looked from Sheppard’s face, to his leg, then back to his face, and couldn’t stop the grin on his own face, even when Sheppard groaned again and shuddered.

“What is it? What happened?” Keller yelled out of breath as she ran up to the other side of the bed.

“His leg hurts,” Ronon announced.

Keller froze, like Ronon had, then smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“Glad I…could…help…” Sheppard grunted.

“Let me run a few checks, then I’ll get you something for the pain.” She moved to the end of the bed. “Can you feel this?”

Ronon stood next to Sheppard, glancing down occasionally when his friend yelped in pain at Keller’s poking and prodding, but neither one of them could keep the relief off their faces. A few minutes later, Keller reported that Sheppard’s reflexes looked good. She gave Sheppard some pain medication and hovered just long enough to see the pain lines in his face lessen, then left with the promise of returning soon with more tests.

Sheppard groaned, but he smiled when he looked at Ronon.

“That’s a bit of a relief,” he muttered and Ronon laughed, sinking into the ever-present chair next to the bed. The nightmarish images of the last few days were beginning to fade, shuffled to the back of his mind, but he wondered for a moment if he should apologize. He’d apologized before, but Sheppard had been pretty out of it.

“Thanks,” Sheppard whispered, and Ronon looked up, startled. “You saved my life. I know you would have blamed yourself for any…permanent damage, but you made a hard decision, and I’m alive.”

Ronon nodded, unable to respond. He suddenly remembered McKay’s and Teyla’s return the night before. Sheppard had closed his eyes, and Ronon wondered if he’d drifted off to sleep already.

“Sheppard, you asleep?”

“Hmm?” Sheppard turned his head back toward Ronon but his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

“You’re awake!” McKay yelled, and all grogginess left Sheppard’s face in an instant. Ronon rolled his eyes, and caught the same look on Teyla’s face as the two of them walked into the room.

“McKay, Teyla, you’re back,” Sheppard rasped. “When did you get back?”

“Last night. We just saw Keller. She said—uh, so…you’re okay?”

“Yeah, McKay, I’m going to be fine. And you, are you guys okay? Teyla?” Sheppard was struggling to sit up as they approached. Ronon reached down to raise the bed up.

“We are fine, John. Especially now that we know you will recover as well.” Teyla stepped closer, holding out the small bundle in her arms. “John, I would like you to meet my son.”

Sheppard smiled, staring at the baby in awe as he struggled to reign in his emotions. Teyla brushed Sheppard’s hair away from his face, then gently eased the baby into the crook of his arm, positioning the casted right wrist so that the baby wouldn’t slip. The baby yawned, stretching one of its arms before settling against Sheppard’s chest and falling back to sleep. Sheppard looked half thrilled and half panicked, making everyone laugh.

“So, have you decided on a name?” Ronon asked, and grinned at the sudden twinkle in Teyla’s eye.

END


End file.
